Of Great and Good Men
by MTCrazy17
Summary: When tragic news strikes John, he hides himself from the world, not wanting anyone to see him in his pain, but can he really hide himself away from his best friend? Will Sherlock be able to show he's not just a great man, but a good one aswell?


John. -SH

Don't even...-JW

What? I didn't say anything. Someone's a bit defensive. -SH

Sorry...sorry Sherlock...-JW

It's fine... -SH

Um...Sherlock will you do me a favor and stay out of my room for the rest of the week...I wont be leaving it and I'd much rather you not come in...-JW

That's a rather odd request. What's the occasion that has you in hiding? -SH

Family drama...nothing too big...just..please don't come in looking for me...-JW

Family drama? -SH

...Somone in my family died Sherlock...I don't think i'm going to get over it for some time...-JW

I'm...sorry. Was it someone close to you? -SH

It's alright just...Drop it Sherlock...-JW

Fine. I'll leave you be, then. -SH

Thanks...didn't want to Sherlock-proof the door. I just want to be alone...-JW

Sometimes alone is the very worst place to be. I don't do sentiment, but I'm concerned about you. -SH

Sherlock...you come through that door, and I wont hold back from punching you. Stay away from me...-JW

And I gave no such indication that I'm going to attempt to invade your personal space. I'm only attempting to engage you in a conversation. Friends are supposed to look out for each other, yes? -SH

Yes but...theres nothing you can do to help...it's all my fault..if only I looked out for her more...-JW

Something happened to Harry, then. -SH

...Harriet...she's...God Sherlock...she's dead. -JW

I don't know what to say to make you feel better. We both know "I'm sorry" is meaningless in these situations. -SH

Yeah...i've tried saying sorry to her too...only to be too late...-JW

This isn't your fault, you know. -SH

She was my sister...she was all I had left...mum and dad...they told me to look after her..I failed Sherlock. It is all my fault. My last family memeber...dead. I'm alone and it's all my damn ault. -JW

And people make their own choices. You can't control everything and everyone. Blaming yourself isn't going to help you. -SH

I was suppost to keep her away from the drugs and the drinks...all I did when I left her was sentence her to death. I should have never left...if only I stayed...Christ, it's all my fault! -JW

She was an adult who made her own choices, John. And she would have continued to make those same choices whether you were there or not. -SH

...You think what you want Sherlock...but I know the truth. She started up again because I left her. I left her alone. She must've thought I hated her...forget it Sherlock, just forget it...pretend we never even talked about this...just don't come near me...I'm a wreak, I hate being this way, let alone let you see me like this...-JW

And if I walk upstairs to your bedroom right now, you're going to punch me, correct? -SH

...No..worse, I'll most likely cry all over you. Best you keep your distance even more...-JW

And what's so terribly awful about that? -SH

Emotions Sherlock. You don't know how to handle that. And I'd fight you tooth and nail. Your not comming throughthat door no matter what. -JW

Just because I don't express emotions doesn't mean I'm not capable of having them. Sitting alone in your bedroom for a week is going to drive you mad, and I can't have that. -SH

You're going to let it happen because I deserve it for indirectly killing my own sister...-JW

I'm coming upstairs. Fight me tooth and nail all you want, John. -SH

You stay the hell away from me dammit! -JW

Sherlock proceeds up the stairs to John's bedroom door. He doesn't understand most forms of attachment, but he understands grief and anger well enough. He knocks on the door. "John, I'm capable of picking a lock. I'd rather not go through the trouble."

Watson puts his cane by the door, blocking the mans entrance. "I said stay out!" He yelled.

"Fine, then I'll just talk to you through the door," Sherlock said, leaning back against the wall. "I don't have anywhere to be and I'm not going to leave you alone."

John slumped beside the door, his back against it. He was shaking slightly, his eyes already welling with tears he refused to let fall. "Why...why do you have to care...I killed her Sherlock..."

"You didn't kill anyone, John. You felt a responsibility to protect her, and that's understandable. I suppose that's what siblings do. But she made her choices as well. And as for why I care..." Sherlock's voice trailed off for a moment. "Please don't cry."

John rubbed at his watery eyes. "I'm not crying..i'm a soldier...we don't cry...we're not weak..." He bowed his head into his arms, he couldn't keep the tears at bay for much longer, but by God, he's try. "She was my sister Sherlock...now i'm all alone..."

"The very last word I would use to describe you would be 'weak,' John," Sherlock said, taking a deep breath. "I can sit out here all night if I have to. You're the only friend I have - that I've ever had, really - and I care about you. Bottling all of this up isn't healthy."

"I don't want you seeing me like this Sherlock...i'm a soldier...a Doctor...we're not suppost to be like this...we help people..not the ones needing the help." He spoke with a monotone. He was trying to push away his emotions. He had to..."It's the only way to survive...bottling up everything..."

"I tried that once," Sherlock called through the door. "And I have a history of drug addiction to show for it. Sometimes it's...alright to need help. And bottling thing up doesn't mean a damn thing as far as survival is concerned."

"The only reason you got through that was because of Greg...you had someone...to pull you through the hell...I had nobody...I was the one doing the pulling...I tried to pull Harry out...I failed...I wasn't strong enough like Lestrade was for you..." He took a shallow breath as the emotions begame to take hold. "I don't wanne be the one being pulled out this time...I don't deserve it..."

Sherlock considered, and sighed. Witty banter would get him nowhere. All he had left, he realized, was the truth. "John, I need you. Whether you think you deserve it or not, you shouldn't go through this alone."

John sniffed, his friends words hitting home. A single tear streaked down his cheek. "...Sherlock..."

"Yes?" Sherlock asked.

He pressed his cheek to the door. "M'sorry..."

"You don't owe me any kind of apology," Sherlock told him, shaking his head. "Could have forced my way into your room by now, you know. But I prefer if we do it this way."

There was a beat of silence before the click of the door handle was heard. John's door opened slightly, through the crack one could only see the darkness in the room, John peeked out silently, looking at Sherlock with the saddest puppy dog eyes on the planet. Silent tears falling every few seconds or so down his face.

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure of the size or breadth of his heart in general, but he was fairly certain that it broke a bit when he saw the look on John's face. The man was beyond devastated. The look in his eyes was unbearable and unforgettable. Sherlock pushed the door open and silently, without hesitating, wrapped his arms around John and held onto him.

John didn't even try to protest at the sudden new warmth on him. He felt Sherlock wrap his strong arms around him in a protective hold. All John could do was lean into him, clutching his friends shirt with a vice like grip. He buried his face into Sherlocks thin frame, not giving a damn about his pride any longer. He shamelessly let a broken sob escape his lips, as his body shook with his whimpers. He cried into the expensive shirt of his friend, knowing that after all this was done he was going to be saying sorry for a long time after. He didn't think his tears were ever going to stop. Holding 10 some odd years of his emotions bottled up was heavy, but letting that all out at once was one big relief.

Sherlock felt John break, his body quivering with choked sobs. He could think of little other to do than hold onto the man for dear life and let him cry. If it were anyone else, he would be mortified - but it was John, and he couldn't think of anything other than trying to find a way to comfort the man. He couldn't remember the last time he had comforted someone. He held John tightly, letting the shorter man's frame sink into him.

John closed his eyes, keeping his head under Sherlock's chin. His sobs lessened but his tears didn't. He felt so emotionally drained, it had been awhile since he cried. He never even once cried after the war. Not to anyone did he feel as safe and as comforted as he did with Sherlock. He could feel his legs shaking, if they buckled now, he wasn't sure if he could stop from taking Sherlock down with him. He gave another soft whimper as he huddled himself closer to Sherlock. He could hear the strong beat of the taller man''s heart ringing in his ear that layed on his chest. It made him feel slightly safer with each beat. He sniffed, trying to rub at his tear streaked face. He didn't want to let go of Sherlock. He was the only man, he felt close enough to to let his feelings actually run whild for once. He thought of Harry, and how she would use to do the same when they were children when he was scared or hurt. All it did was make a new coat of tears fall from his face.

Sherlock wasn't a particularly empathetic man, but John's grief and his sadness were so consuming that he could almost feel them as well. He was well aware of the tears staining his shirt but found that he didn't care - this was what John desperately needed, and that was his only concern. "You should sit down," Sherlock said, his voice gentle. "You're exhausted."

John heard the gentle tone of Sherlock's voice. He was too tired to say anything. He would obey Sherlock to the end's of the earth at the moment. Like a loya dog would a master. He nodded into the soft fabric of the mans shirt. He kept an iron grip on Sherlock, not daring himself to let go of the only thing that kept him from total self desruction.

Sherlock held onto John and led him to the edge of the bed, and sat him down there. He debated for a moment and then chose to sit down beside him - he had a nagging feeling that leaving his side would be a mistake, and so he opted not to. Tears were still falling and Sherlock hated to see it. It broke his heart more than he wanted to admit. Seeing John like this made him feel almost sick.

John kept his leaky eyes on the floor, every few seconds he would sniff, but he made no move to wipe at his face. Why bother if they would just continue anew? He kept one hand on Sherlock's arm. He was silent now, no sobs, no whimpers, just sad silent tears.

Sherlock silently moved his arm and took John's hand in one his own, giving it a gentle squeeze as though to silently tell him that he wasn't going anywhere. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked finally, unable to bear the silence any longer.

Finally John looked up, his bright eyes looked into the concerned pale ones. He shook his head weakly, the movement making him slightly dizzy. When he spoke, his voice was scratchy and squeaked. "No..no you've done enough for a lifetime...thank you..." He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Still the tears continued but at a slower rate of falling then before. "It means alot..." He smiled weakly. "Sorry about your shirt mate..."

Sherlock shook his head. "Never thought I'd say this, but my shirt is the least of my worries. I can get new shirts. I can't get new John Watsons."

John smile, this time it made it to his eyes that seemed to be drying with the last of his tears. He bliked rappidly, the feeling of sleepiness becoming stronger. He felt drained to the core. "I still feel bad about that. You liked that one."

SA smile, at least, Sherlock saw. That was something. He shrugged. "I like you surviving just a bit more."

John chuckled for the first time since getting the news of his sister. He wiped his face with his hand. "Thank you for that Sherlock really...I needed that...sorry I had to dump that water works display on you though..." He looked away, ashamed.

"And I'd rather you do that then keep it all bottled up inside," he repeated. "I'm not the picture of mental health, but even I can tell you that particular road isn't good for anyone. I can't imagine everything you've seen and been through - but you shouldn't have to be alone. You deserve better."

All John could do was give a gratful smile up to Sherlock. He gave Sherlock's hand a soft pat. "No matter what others say about you Sherlock, I want you to know, that you're the best friend I coud have ever asked for. Theres not enough thank you's in the world for you mate..." He blinked past the tears that were once again welling up in his eyes, athought thses tears were for a diffrent reason.

"You don't have to thank me," Sherlock told him. "You're my only friend - quite possibly the only real friend I've ever had. I hate seeing you like this - but whatever you need, all you have to do is ask."

John nodded, he was getting too sleepy. "Alright...y'know that applies for you too. You ever need me, i'll always be there for you Sherlock."

"That was never a question. That's just the type of man you are, John," Sherlock told him. "You really need to rest. I imagine it's been a difficult day, to say the least."

"Heh..." He smirked. "To say the least is right.." He yawned shortly, he was beyond tired, but he was bothered on the thought of sleeping. "I just...after the war I had some pretty bad nightmares...what if because of whats happened today...there worse...Harry..." He choked on the name, as if it pained him to say it out loud. He looked away from Sherlock again, he felt like a scared child.

"I know," Sherlock said. "But you have to at least try to sleep. Would it help if I stayed?"

He blinked, staring at Sherlock with sommething between shock and relief. "You'd stay...? Sherlock, you've already done so much for me today...I don't want to be a bigger burden then I already am...you don't have to."

"You're not a burden to me - and you never will be. If you want me to stay, I'll stay," he told him, and he meant it. The idea of leaving John alone is his room wasn't one he particularly liked. In his mind there was an image of John curled up alone in his bed sobbing all over again and he hated it and didn't want it, and somehow he thought that if he was there, it would somehow help.

John thought it over for half a second before he nodded. "I think it would be for the best...Please...can you stay..?"

Sherlock didn't hesitate. "Absolutely."

He couldn't help but feel a complete admiring for this man before him. Even after everything thats happened tonight, Sherlock was still willing to stay with him. "You're bloody sweet when you want to be Sherlock." He chuckled triedly.

"And that secret stays with you," Sherlock told him. "The blog and the rest of the world doesn't need to know that. I have an image to maintain, you know."

He chuckled again, fixing himself into his bed. "Yes, yes. Alsong as you tell nobody about my little...breakdown..."

"I think you know better. What happens during moments of sentiment stays between us. For what it's worth, most people don't consider me 'sweet,' as you put it, because I don't treat them that way. Nor do I want to...it seems to be rather exclusive to you," Sherlock said. "Which, again, is close to sentiment."

"I'm then a very lucky and honored man. Even though the situration...it was good to see just how human you can be." He mumbled into his pillow. "Lestrade once told me you were a great man, he also said that one day, you had the making of a good one too...he was right." John smiled tiredly.

Sherlock settled back against the headboard. "I don't know about all that. But I do, on occasion, try. I like to think it's because I have the right company to make me a better person."

"You saying I helped in all this...? Cause if you are, I don't see it.." John shorted. "It took me ten years to cry, what makes you think I could've changed a man for the better in the short time we've known eachother?"

"I told you earlier that alone was not necessarily the best place to be," Sherlock said. "And I meant that. Before I met you, I spent most of my time trapped in my own head, whether it was good for me or not. And then I met you, and you were the one person who didn't treat me like a freak or a ticking time bomb. I don't trust anyone, John - but I do trust you. You think I'm brilliant, and that I'm a good man. And that in turn makes me want to be one."

For a long moment, John tried to process everything that Sherlock had said. He gave Sherlock's hand he still had a grip on a light squeeze. "I trust you too Sherlock..i'm glad I make you want to be a better man, but I think you are already a good one. Any better and you'll explode." He chuckled, scooting closer to him.

"Please," Sherlock said. "I'm a work in progress, John. We all are. Some of us just have further to go than others. Some of us are lucky to have someone around that speeds things up a bit." There was something strangely comforting about this - about his hand in John's, about having an honest to goodness conversation without snark or deductions, and he hoped that it was having a similar effect on John.

John's eye lids were getting heavier and heavier. "You're getting there then...I see so much good in you Sherlock...so much..." He snuggled into Sherlocks side. "Your a good man...always have been, always will be..."

"I don't know about the first part," Sherlock told him with a soft chuckle. "But if I've got you, I stand a chance at the second part." He put a hesitant arm around John, rubbing his back in slow, comforting circles.

"Same here Sherlock..." The comforting hand around him only made him even more sleepy, but before he lost total sence of reality there was one thing left bothering him. "Sherlock..." He mumbled. "Do you think..wherever she is...do you think Harry hates me..."

"No," Sherlock said without hesitation. "I think she knows that you loved her and that you tried to help her. You did everything you could for her, and I'm sure she knows that. Wherever she is, I imagine she's proud of you. And always will be."

John nodded his once again tear streaked face. He tried hiding it in Sherlocks side. He was able to squeak out a few words, trying to keep them at a nomal tone as possible. They wavered slightly. "Okay...okay..." He smiled watery. "I think you're right..."

Sherlock smiled softly, and gave John a comforting squeeze. "I'm very seldom wrong, you know."

"There's that planet sized ego." He smiled, as he brushed the tears away with his free hand.

"And yet I still got a smile out of you," Sherlock said. He scooted down so that he was more comfortable. It had been a strange night and John was oddly comfortable.

"Oh shut up you twit..." He couldn't stop the sleepy chuckle that escaped him, he layed him self more comfortably by laying his head on Sherlocks shoulder, keeping one hand in one of Sherlock's. He cuddled into the warmth that called him to sleep, he let his eyes close finally, mumbling his last words before meeting a peacful oblivion. "G'night Sherlock...thank you..for everything..." with that he slofley drifted to sleep, a soft smile on his lips.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and settled in as well. He felt like he had made a good step in the right direction by helping his friend today. 'Maybe he's right.' He thought. 'Maybe I can become a good man..just maybe, with help...' He gave John a smile before closing his own eyes. "Good night, John," he whispered.

THE END.  
> <p>


End file.
